I first came across gambling at a very young age: in my village on Boxing Day, and even at school. Back then, I didn’t think it was a big deal.
Every 26th of December, my village hosted its own version of the Durban July – a horse racing event that drew hundreds from nearby villages. The horses would be draped in colourful cloths, adorned with ribbons, and paraded as if they were royalty. People drank, opened their car boots, and blasted music. Just like South Africa’s real Durban July, most weren’t there for the races; they sat in their cars, guzzling alcohol, and probably wouldn’t be able to tell you which horse won.
I hated being there. I had zero interest in horses or in watching people drink. Yet, for reasons I don’t fully understand, my dad loved it. He’d laugh with his friends, debating which horse would win.
I still remember one famous horse, Andazi, who won most of the races it entered, and was surrounded by conspiracy theories. People said the owner cheated or that the horse’s wins were rigged. My dad was right in the middle of it, laughing with his friends: “Akacingwa abuye nayo kulonyaka u-Andazi” (There’s no way Andazi is coming on top this year).
People worshipped Andazi so much that when it died a couple of years ago, they even printed T-shirts with its picture and the words: ‘RIP Andazi, we will always miss you.’ Perhaps a little ridiculous, but it shows just how seriously people took it – almost as if the horse was a legend in its own right.
It’s hard to say if my dad ever bet on the horses, but knowing him, I doubt it. He was always careful with money. He didn’t even drink – to him, alcohol was a waste. “Uthi ndingayipasa into yophelelwa yimali ndiyigqiba etywaleni” (I just can’t picture myself wasting money like that on alcohol).
I think he was just there for the vibes and debates with his friends. Why my siblings and I had to come along is still a mystery. We’d spend hours counting down until we could go home. Sometimes, we asked about the horses, and he’d answer enthusiastically. I wanted to understand why this event drew such crowds. Eventually, I realised the real draw wasn’t the racing or the music… it was gambling. After all, their leftover Christmas treats were still fresh at home, so I didn’t understand why they came.
To be fair, our village Durban July had zero fashion sense – balaclavas, gumboots… nothing like the glamour you see on TV.
This habit wasn’t confined to village events; around the same time, gambling appeared at school too. We played a game called ‘spin,’ which teachers eventually banned.
The game was simple: one player would spin a coin, hide it under their hand, and others had to guess heads or tails by staking their own coins. If you guessed right, you won the coin.
I kept a grey school sock stuffed with 5 and 10 cent coins – my personal gambling wallet. Some boys had bank money bags filled with coins. During break, a desk at the back of the class drew huge crowds, even from other grades. People would stand on chairs just to watch. You could lose your money in two minutes, and the taunts made the loss sting even more.
But the thrill was addictive. If you lost, you’d mutter “Ndiyabuya” (I’ll be back), borrow from a friend, and lose again. Day ruined, lunch money gone, now owing someone else, and yet by the next break or day you’d try again.
Teachers eventually banned “spin.” They said it distracted us, involved money, and could lead to thuggery – something that clashed with the school’s Christian values.
Looking back, it’s striking how the promise of easy money draws such large crowds. Over time, I saw that this wasn’t unique to my village. Gambling seeps into every corner of life.
In fact, I recently came across an interesting LinkedIn post that argued airport ads reveal what a city values. The author noted that Dubai values luxury, Frankfurt values finance, and San Francisco values tech. She then mentioned Cape Town International Airport, which is littered with betting ads. I was there just a week ago – and I can confirm, they’re everywhere.
For a country with a deplorable youth unemployment rate of 62.4%, this is worrying. It suggests young people rarely learn delayed gratification or saving. Each R1 earned becomes a “what if?” in the mind of a punter, who sees it as leverage that might turn into R1000 through betting.
I almost got hooked myself two years ago. I love sports, and I’d see guys posting betting codes on WhatsApp stories. Curiosity got the better of me until a friend taught me how to use one of the apps. I stuck to football and never placed more than R50 on a single bet (still a lot).
Then someone suggested joining Facebook groups sharing “secret codes,” which I did.
The so-called experts there posted “master codes” that never won, constantly urging us to stake more as if they’d cracked the games. The catch? They also ran paid WhatsApp groups with so-called “guaranteed codes.” It didn’t take me long to realise it was all a scam. Not just the groups, but the very business model of betting itself. Something can be legal yet still feel rigged, simply because the odds are stacked against you. I almost compared it to medical aid, but I’ll leave it at that.
Why You’ll Never Really Win
I should’ve known this long before betting apps. Back in primary school, when we played “spin,” I almost never pulled away when I was ahead. Even if I won, I wanted more. When I lost, I’d borrow money, convinced I could win it back.
The same thing happened years later during my short-lived betting phase. I once turned R1 into R850 on a slip and felt like I’d cracked a secret code. But I didn’t stop. That same day, I lost it all – without cashing out – and even added an extra R50, trying to chase the win.
That’s gambling’s trick: even when you win, you don’t really win. The house always comes out on top. Odds stack against you. Your mind works against you. A win convinces you that you’ve figured it out, but the cycle resets the moment you bet again.
Gamblers don’t lose because they never win. They lose because they can’t stop.
How Gambling Tears Families Apart
I recently came across a stat that South Africans spent R1.1 trillion on gambling in 2024. I had to read that twice. For a so-called third-world country, we sure have some very ‘first-world’ gambling habits.
Another stat from Stats SA hit even harder: gambling accounts for 54% of household spending in South Africa. Are such stats just for vibes? After all, you never see any action taken after these studies. Think about that for a second. More than half of what households spend is swallowed by gambling. And we all know which demographic is hit the hardest.
Still, gambling is legal… Why? Because gambling companies hide behind a one-line disclaimer in tiny font: “gamble responsibly?” It’s like telling a coke addict to just stop. Well… maybe they will, but the reality is very different. And that reality hits families hardest: debt, crime, divorce, and the loss of trust.
It feels like the poor and vulnerable are being targeted, while those in power look the other way. If anyone truly cared, stricter regulations would already be in place to protect people. It reminds me of my primary school days; how easy it was to get pulled in. It starts off so subtly, and before you know it, lunch money is gone. Just a few games as an adult, and suddenly you’re chasing debts, losing savings, and watching relationships crumble.
The odds are never in your favour, and the costs go far beyond money. Part of me even understands why people keep playing; chasing hope, chasing the thrill. Yet that same hope traps too many South Africans in a cycle of despair, one whose devastating consequences aren’t fully felt until it’s too late.
And the saddest part is that the game keeps going quietly; in every village, every town, every home – until someone realises that the real loss isn’t the money, but everything else that gambling takes along the way.
© Phumzile